To Raise a Child
by WinJennster
Summary: Dean touches a small wooden horse statue in the bunker's storeroom and is de-aged to a newborn. Sam and Cas decide to raise him the best they can. (One-shot for the Destiel Ficlet Challenge on tumblr.)


This was for the Destiel Ficlet Challenge on Tumblr. The bold type is the prompt I was given.

**Person A gets cursed by a witch (whatever you want it to be) and now Person B has to deal with it and get them un-cursed.**

* * *

"Sam! Sam, come quick! Hurry!"

Cas's frantic voice bounced through the corridors of the bunker, echoing through the stone passageways.

Sam dropped the book he'd been reading and shot out of his chair, dashing down the hallway towards the sound of Cas's voice.

"Hurry, Sam!"

He followed Cas's voice to the storeroom slash dungeon. "What is it? What's wron - Cas?" Sam blinked in confusion.

The former angel was half dressed, standing there with his shirt unbuttoned, tie long gone, and pants gaping wide. There was a line of fresh hickeys up the left side of his neck.

"I knew it!" Sam yelled, without even thinking. "I knew you two were - wait. Where's Dean?"

"We were in the middle of -"

"I know what you were in the middle of."

"Oh. Well, I was kissing Dean, and I shoved him against the shelf. He likes when I'm rough with him. Dean is partial to sexual subjugation."

Sam slapped a hand over his eyes, dragging it down his face in frustration. "That's great, Cas. Just skip to the end of this story."

"Dean knocked a box over. And then he disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Disappeared."

"Great. Show me what he knocked down."

Cas pointed to the box on the floor, laying beside a pile of fabric that Sam realized was Dean's clothes. He rolled his eyes, and sorted carefully through the contents of the box, being careful not to touch anything.

The box had a label on it, and a log entry. Sam crossed the room to the thick ledger that contained details of most of the room's contents. He flipped through the pages until he came to the proper entry. His eyes skimmed it quickly, and he sighed.

"Cas. Carefully, without touching anything, see if there's a small wooden horse over there."

Cas looked, then nodded an affirmative.

"Great." Sam sighed. "Small Wooden Horse, circa 1659." He read. "Constance Elizabeth Abbott - Salem, Massachusetts. Goodwife Abbott failed to bring a live child into the world on three separate instances. Her husband was greatly displeased, and blamed her. According to her own account, she then cast him from their marriage bed, citing a false pregnancy as the reason. Her husband and fellow townsfolk believed her claims of pregnancy. When the nine months had past, she produced a male newborn. Her husband was never seen by the townsfolk again, and they were led to believe he'd been killed by a local tribe. According to her account, Goodwife Abbott cast a spell upon a small wooden horse, and when her husband touched it, he became a newborn. She then raised the child to adulthood as her own."

Sam closed the book. "But there's no baby -" He whirled around, eyes on Dean's pile of clothing. "Cas! Check the clothes."

Castiel complied immediately, pawing through the discarded items. His eyes wide, he gently plucked a very small baby from Dean's shirt.

"Oh, fuck."

* * *

A rushed trip to Walmart later, and Sam found himself walking the library floor, trying to get his brother to burp. Dean fussed, and made a scrunched up face that was ridiculously adorable.

"C'mon, dude. You used to take great pride in burping as loudly as possible. Get on it."

Sam lifted Dean to his shoulder, gently patting his back through the soft cotton onesie. He was finally rewarded with a soft belch. "There you go."

"Ok, we've got the little portable crib setup," Charlie announced. She'd come as soon as she'd heard. Jody Mills was also on her way, being the only actual Mom they really knew.

"Thanks, Charlie."

"And by the way, I brought several days' worth of clothes, my Mac, my iPad, and my killer brains. I'm staying until we figure this out."

"We might not figure it out. According to what we found, Constance only intended this to be a one-time thing. Dean may be a baby for life."

"Well, not likely for life," Cas suggested, entering the library. He was wearing one of Dean's old shirts and a pair of jeans. "He will likely grow and mature at a normal rate of growth for a child."

Sam sighed, settling down in a chair. He reached for a soft blanket and wrapped Dean in it. "I hope not. I'm not father material."

"I don't believe that," Charlie said softly. "You care about him, right? You'd protect him with your life?"

"Of course."

"Then that's where you start. Everything else can be learned."

"Dean hates witches," Cas said abruptly. "I'm beginning to feel the same."

"I'm sorry, Cas. This can't be easy for you. Especially with the uh, _change_ in your relationship."

"Wait, what? I - _ooh_," Charlie said, looking from the baby to Cas's stricken face and back again.

"By the time Dean reaches full maturity again, I will be an old man. And he'll view me as father figure, an uncle. Not a lover."

"Cas -"

"I'm going to bed," the former angel said quietly, rising from his chair and disappearing from the library.

"Oh, man. That sucks."

"It really does," Sam said softly. He snuggled Dean close to his chest, rocking him gently.

Dean blinked sleepy dark blue eyes up at Sam. "He's pretty cute, isn't he?" He brushed his hand over the blond downy fuzz on his brother's head.

"He really is. How old do you think he is?"

"Really young. Less than a month. His eyes are the color of a newborn's eyes."

"Wow."

Dean yawned, and as Sam watched, fascinated, his little eyelids blinked once, twice, finally closing.

"Huh. Guess I better put him to bed." He stood, careful not to jostle the baby in his arms.

"Crib's in your room. I'm going to stay up and research a while."

"Ok. G'night."

Sam walked to his own room, softly kicking the door shut. He snuggled Dean tight against his chest in one arm, dragging the small portable crib across the floor towards his bed. He laid Dean in the bassinet attachment.

Sam watched his tiny brother sleep for a long time.

* * *

One day turned into a week. Nothing.

That week turned into two weeks, three, then a month. Nothing.

That month turned into six months, and Dean, now a chubby giggling six month old, was learning to scoot-crawl across the library floor.

Cas had gotten a job at a local gas station, and drove himself to work every day in Dean's car. He was slowly teaching himself how to work on her, mastering things such as oil changes and tune-ups with surprising ease.

Charlie had moved in, and was working from the bunker, running a site for hunters on one side, while getting paid for managing a legitimate networking website for IT professionals.

And Sam?

Sam was a stay at home Dad. He spent his days doing dishes, laundry, teaching himself how to cook, and caring for the cutest baby he'd ever seen in his life. And Dean was such a good baby. He rarely cried, had an easy smile, and was bright and inquisitive.

Sam and Cas had fallen into an easy platonic partnership, Cas working hard to pay for groceries and other items they needed, and with Charlie's income, they were comfortable.

Dean shrieked happily about something from his place on the floor, surround by baby-safe cars and soft squishy blocks. They'd invested in a play yard, which consisted of several baby gates linked together, and he could sit in there and play and they didn't have to worry about him crawling off and tumbling down the stairs into the war room.

"I'm home," Cas called.

"Hey!" Sam looked up from his computer, where he was looking up spaghetti recipes. "How was work?"

"Long. Boring. Humans have an amazing aptitude for being incredibly stupid." Cas tossed his jacket over a chair.

"Ha. You're telling me!"

"Where's Charlie?"

"Out. Meeting up with some fellow geeks."

"Oh." Cas walked over to the play yard. Dean caught sight of him and squealed, a big grin spreading across his face. "How's my little friend?" Cas smiled, scooping him up and into his arms.

Dean pumped his legs happily.

"He had a good day. We took a walk and saw some birds and a few cows. And he likes real bananas better than the baby food."

"I can't blame him."

Sam smiled, closing his laptop as Cas took a seat at the library table, Dean now grabbing at Cas's nametag.

"So, I've been thinking."

"Hmm?" Cas asked, running his fingers through the soft hair on Dean's head.

"It's been six months. I think maybe it's time we accepted this is likely permanent."

"I'm aware. I've resigned myself to it."

"Ok."

"It's a second chance for Dean, anyway. One he deserves. A chance to have a peaceful childhood, as much as we can give him one."

Sam nodded. "And to actually be a child. To play soccer and do Boy Scouts and climb trees - all of that stuff. To just be Dean, and not the Vessel, or the Righteous Man. To just be a kid. I mean, we're going to have to have Charlie draw up paperwork and all that so he can go to school at some point."

"Of course."

"Are you sure you're ok with this? I mean -"

"I'm sad that I won't be able to continue the relationship we'd begun. But, if you continue to allow me to help you raise him, I will be honored to do so."

"Hell, Cas, I can't do this without you. I'd lose my mind."

Cas scooped Dean up and held him over his head, and the baby shrieked with laughter. "Then it appears we are raising a child, Sam Winchester."

* * *

Six months turned into one year, then two.

They were settled. They were comfortable.

Dean was toddling all over the bunker. There were other hunters living with them now. Familiar faces.

Sam had found Claire Novak out on the road during a rare Wendigo hunt absolutely no one else could take. She moved in immediately, and her and Cas became very close.

Krissy and Josephine moved in not long after, and it wasn't long before the three girls were fierce friends, with their own little wing of the bunker. Charlie slipped into something of a dorm-mother role, all while helping Sam with little Dean.

As more and more young hunters took shelter in the bunker walls, Sam cleaned out more and more rooms to make space.

One day, two years and three months since Dean had touched the statue, Sam came across it in the storage room, missing contact with it by a mere millimeter. Frustrated, he took the entire contents of the box, dropped it into a metal trashcan, doused it with salt and lighter fluid, and set it ablaze.

He then went back to work, forgetting about the tiny horse statue.

* * *

Later that night, Cas was cutting pizza into tiny pieces for Dean, who was gurgling happily in his high chair, tiny freckled face already covered in tomato sauce.

"Sammy!" he yelled, catching sight of his brother.

"Hey, little man," Sam smiled, running a hand through Dean's blond curls.

"He's on his third slice," Cas smiled. "Can't seem to get him full today."

"Aw, he's a growing boy."

Sam would always remember that he said that, because at that very moment, the high chair collapsed and Dean, fully grown adult Dean, covered in the shreds of his favorite Lightning McQueen outfit, blinked confused green eyes up at them.

"What the fuck?" he asked. "What the hell is going on?"

"Whoa!" Sam exclaimed. "You're. You. I don't. What the hell?"

"_Dean?"_

"Yeah, Cas. That's my name."

"Do you - do you remember anything?"

"Just a really weird dream. I dreamt I was a baby and you and Cas were raising me, and -" Dean stared down at his bare torso and the remains of the high chair. He looked around the library, at the toy chest, and all the little cars, the train set. "Oh. That wasn't - that wasn't a dream, huh?"

"No." Sam dropped into a chair.

"Am I wearing a diaper?"

"Uh, yeah, dude. You're two. Well you were. Hadn't gotten you potty trained yet. Stubborn little ass."

"How long has it been?"

"Two years, three months, and twenty-one days," Cas said softly. "We were getting ready for Christmas."

"Look, we left your room the way it was. There's just a crib and baby stuff in there now, too. Why don't you get dressed and we'll tell you everything. Ok?"

* * *

Hours later, Dean had been debriefed, met all the hunters (who took his insta-aging rather well, Sam thought), and they'd all decided that burning the statue must have been the key.

"We'd given up," Sam said softly. "We were just going to raise you, and give you a nice, normal childhood. We were doing pretty good."

Dean twirled a tumbler of whiskey between his fingers. "Looks like. Everything's set up so nice. Seems like a pretty great place to be a baby."

"Yeah."

"Anyway. I'm going to go talk to Cas." Dean stood, surprising Sam when he leaned down and wrapped him in a tight hug. "Bet you made one hell of Dad, Sam." He straightened back up, running a fond hand through Sam's hair.

Later, after Sam finally decided to go to bed, he walked past Dean's room, which was empty. The Cars night light cast the room, and the empty crib, in a soft light.

Sam was happy. Sam was glad to have his best friend, his big brother, back to normal. But he couldn't deny the pang in his heart as he looked at the empty room.

He shut the door, and turned away. He walked down the hall towards his own room, pausing for a moment by Cas's slightly open door.

Dean was inside, wrapped tightly in Cas's arms. Their legs were tangled, and they were clinging to each other as if they were afraid the other would disappear during the night.

Smiling, Sam pulled their door shut as well.


End file.
